


Moments in Time: Sounds of Bells

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-21
Updated: 2002-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2nd in the MiT series Big Ben bongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments in Time: Sounds of Bells

## Moments in Time: Sounds of Bells

by cheddarandonion

<http://traitorsgate.diaryland.com>

* * *

From afar, the church bell rang. Across the clear, blue skies and hopped across the street corners, climb rooftops and knock on windows. Lex sat in front of the dead fire place and watched the blackened coal. His fingers absently caressed a single gold band and savored the cool, smooth surface. It turned warm. 

The sun outside his windows were obstructed by black shadows of black mourners, their sobs scratched the air, their tears wet the dusty path. He didn't know them, but they served as potent reminders. 

Death, and he was reminded of mortality, of the waiting scythe and the soulless eyes. He could not remember vividly his mother or Pamela, or Cassandra, or even his father, not visually. But he remembered diligently the feelings that had resulted. Every single erratic heartbeat, every single will-power not to cry, the burning feeling of the need to lash out, cry and laugh hysterically. He remembered the sensation of his face muscles as he greeted mourners and well-wishers, allies and enemies. 

His reverie was broken by Clark's voice in his ear, Clark's fingers on his shoulder on his shoulder and Clark's warmth. he saw the glinting band of gold around Clark's finger and reached to touch it with his own. 

"Are you feeling well?" Clark asked, "we can go out another time if you want." 

Lex shook his head slowly and rose up, smiling confidently. "Of course not," it was their wedding annivesary, and important appointment he could not, and would not miss. Each year, a rebirth. 

They walked out of the room, and outside the tail-end of the black line faded into the horizon. 

... 

The church bells were painted white, not because he was eccentric, but because he could. Their marriage ceremony were of sumptuous simplicity. The smiles on painted faces, eyes damp with tears. Women chattered noisily and the men countered with silence. Lex saw his father and Clark's father keeping up appearances and Martha beaming, radiant. 

Then the dream disppeared in a blur, Lex woke up alone. 

The grandfather clock strikes twelve adn he returned to his slumber, claimed by sleep. He woke up with the break of dawn and waited for the school bells. He looked across his bed and saw Clark smiling, "I hate morning flights." 

... 

At school he always woke up before the morning bell rang. He hated wet tiles in the common bathrooms and so proceeded to bathe before everyone else. By the time everybody else woke and dragged their sorry behinds down to the showers, he sat by the window and read newspapers. He would lost himself under the rays of Etonian sun and waited for a familiar hand to wake him from his reverie. He would then followed the Sixth Former to the latter's dining room and paerted with a chaste kiss. 

One day, though, the hand stopped coming. James had left for Oxford. Lex would sometimes miss breakfast and would read until the first study bell roused him. 

... 

James, as his parting gift, gave Lex a small bell that tinkled rather than bonged. It was of mother-of-pearl and had the daintiest shell that brushed the inner casing. He was meant to call servants with it. He never called servants with it though. 

For three days he rang the bell, hoping James would come. He didn't of course, only the sun played on the luminiscent surface, mocking his insecurities. 

On the forth day, he took a pestel and mortar, crushed the fragile bell and cockle shell, burnt the short silken string, mixed the powder together. White against grey black ashes and he scattered them against the dying autumn sun. The rain soon came, fitting of a sombre British autumn, and drove the dust to the ground. 

He left school and left his adolescent weakness behind. 

**-FIN-**


End file.
